


At Her Mercy

by dandelionsknight



Category: RWBY
Genre: Adam Taurus Being an Asshole, Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/F, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, how could i write a fic without smut, maybe some very background whiterose, rwby ensemble - Freeform, swords! jousting! dragons! BEES!, this is rated m for...later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25481551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionsknight/pseuds/dandelionsknight
Summary: Ser Yang Xiao Long answers the royal decree sent out by King Ghira of Menagerie: the knight that performs the most valiantly and wins his tournament will receive the hand of his daughter, Princess Blake Belladonna, in marriage. Knights from all over answer the call, even though no one has seen Princess Blake in the light of day for many years.Except for Ser Yang, who must now prove both her chivalry and her love.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long, Bumbleby - Relationship
Comments: 60
Kudos: 271





	1. When A Lover Suddenly Catches Sight of Her Beloved, Her Heart Palpitates

Knight-errant Yang Xiao Long had mud in her boots. A cold and steady rain began at nightfall and hadn’t let up since, the occasional burst of wind buffeting the trees bordering the path, hurling spirals of wet autumn leaves into the air.

A league or two ahead of Yang, a caravan of wagons trudged through the rain, glowing yellow lanterns swinging from their sides like stray fireflies. She had a feeling they were not only looking for the same thing as her – a warm, dry place for the night – but also bound for the same destination: Menagerie’s capital city, Kuo Kuana, the seat of King Ghira’s power. A caravan like that probably belonged to a merchant, and they’d make a handsome sum of lien from all the people flocking to the kingdom for the tournament.

Her trusty steed, Bumblebee, snorted and shook his dripping mane. She rubbed his neck. “I know, I know. I’ll find us shelter soon.”

Ahead, the caravan had stopped moving. Squinting, Yang tried to see if they’d spotted a place to stay, but all she saw were dark shapes moving among the wagons. Then, the ringing of steel and the shouting of guards as fighting broke out.

Spurring Bumblebee into a gallop, Yang raced toward them, drawing her sword, brown cloak streaming behind her. A bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the flaming heart emblazoned on her golden armor. As she approached, she saw a pack of beowolves bearing down upon the caravan.

She leapt off Bumblebee and joined the fray. Swinging her sword, she sliced the head off one snarling beowolf, then thumped the weapon against her shield, trying to bait another toward her. As the Grimm leapt for her, she tossed aside her shield, allowing its body to slam into her. Her fiery hair ignited as her semblance roared to life, and she plunged her sword into the beowolf’s flank, the beast melting into black smoke.

Turning to face the rest, she stopped when a spinning white glyph appeared on the ground. An enormous warrior, radiating icy power, rose from the glyph and made quick work of the remaining Grimm with a mighty swing of its sword. Yang sheathed her own weapon, noticing the woman standing outside the largest wagon. She had long white hair and a scar over one eye. With a wave of her hand, the glyph disappeared.

The woman approached Yang, who offered her a small bow. “Thank you for your help in defending my caravan. My name is Weiss Schnee.”

“I know who you are, Lady Schnee,” Yang said. Everyone across Remnant knew this rich merchant’s name.

Lady Schnee’s eyes travelled up and down Yang, and she couldn’t tell if the merchant was sizing her up or admiring her. “You’re going to compete in the tournament?”

“I am,” Yang said, gathering up Bumblebee’s reins as he made his way back over to her. “Have you travelled to Menagerie before?”

“A few times, on business. Why – have you?”

“Only once before.” Yang patted Bumblebee on the neck for his bravery before continuing, “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about Princess Blake, would you?”

Lady Schnee smiled. “Isn’t that the question everybody’s asking?”

Yang could only smile back, avoiding her gaze, face suddenly warm.

“She’s lovely,” Lady Schnee finally said. “And if you fight like you did just now, I’m certain you’ll impress her.”

“You flatter me,” Yang said, bowing her head. “I’m sure you’re eager to get out of this rain, my lady. I won’t keep you any longer.”

Thunder grumbled above them as it began to rain harder. Over the sound of the storm and the quivering trees, Yang heard a high, distant roar. Probably more Grimm out in the forest.

“Perhaps you’d like to join us?” Lady Schnee asked, smiling. “We could always use another capable fighter like yourself on the road.”

“If you insist, then the honor is mine,” Yang said, putting a hand over her heart.

Weiss chuckled. “I think the princess is sure to like you.”

~

Princess Blake Belladonna descended the stairs of her tower. She wore an extravagant purple gown trimmed with thick white fur at the sleeves, black hair glossy and glittering with jeweled pins. It’d been years since she’d appeared in public and thus years since she’d dressed in anything like this – the gown felt too heavy to even stay balanced in. For nearly a week, she’d watched knights from all over Remnant enter Kuo Kuana, and could practically feel the same question burning in the air: _where is the princess?_

Her parents, King Ghira and Queen Kali, awaited her at the bottom of the stairs. She’d had so few interactions with them the past couple years that all she could manage was a court-trained smile when she saw them.

“Blake,” her mother said, walking over to her and sweeping hair behind her ears, “you look beautiful.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and grabbed a fistful of her gown to stop the shaking in her hands. “Thank you.”

“All the knights are eager to meet you,” her father said, beaming and straightening up proudly. “Your champion is sure to impress.”

When Blake nodded, her parents whisked her away for the beginning of the tournament’s festivities: the procession of knights. They would all parade through the center of Kuo Kuana to where Blake and her parents, flanked by their royal guards, waited under a covered dais in the jousting arena.

Townspeople, mostly faunus, had already gathered in the stands, waiting to catch a glimpse of the fabled heroes. Blake shifted in her high-backed throne and politely declined a servant offering her warm cider, an appropriate drink for the season. Kuo Kuana was in full autumn, with a crispness to the air and the trees a sea of red, orange, and yellow as far as the eye could see. Though Blake preferred the warm months, even she couldn’t deny the irresistible charm of Menagerie in autumn.

She could hear the noise of the procession even from here, the distant cheering of crowds and fanfare of trumpets, the clomping of horse hooves and jingle of fine armor. The knights came into view as they rounded the street corner and the townspeople in the stands began to cheer and clap, tossing flowers and ribbons and other tokens, the noise rising with the energy. These knights rode fine horses with broad necks, squires marching beside them, bearing their standards waving and snapping in the strong wind. Each of them was polished and handsome, colorful as the pages of a storybook.

One by one, they dismounted and approached Blake and her family, kneeling and introducing themselves. The first knight wore severe black and red armor, the symbol of a rose on his standard. He wore his helm low over his eyes, two horns sticking out of the top.

“Ser Adam Taurus,” he said, rising before he’d even finished his name. His voice was low and cold, his smile curled like the tail of a snake. “I have come to win your daughter’s hand, Your Grace.”

“I see,” her father said. “But don’t tell me. Tell her.”

Adam’s smile faded, but he regained composure quickly. “Princess Blake,” he said. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

“Finally?” she asked, tilting her head and smiling.

“Yes. The tales of your beauty are numerous – I almost didn’t believe them. But now I see you are indeed a beautiful rose. I should like to call you mine.”

Blake's dislike tasted bitter on her tongue. “Then may the best knight win,” she said.

Over what felt like hours, Blake met each of the knights who'd come to fight over her. Ser Ilia Amitola, in subtle black and brown armor, a chameleon faunus who’d claimed to always want to meet Blake. Ser Sun Wukong, in blinding white armor, a monkey’s tail swishing behind him. So many names, faces, standards, almost two dozen in total, yet Blake couldn’t imagine marrying any of them. Perhaps because they were all strangers to her.

Finally, the very last knight approached. She had no squire nor standard, though the symbol of a flaming heart was carved into her breastplate. Beams of evening sunlight glittered along her golden armor as she walked up, coming closer than any of the others.

The royal guards flinched but Blake stopped them with a wave of her hand. She _knew_ this knight, knew the purple of her eyes and the confidence in her step, even recognized her horse. The knight knelt before her and kissed her hand, the softest brush of lips on skin, saying,

“Ser Yang Xiao Long.”

She looked up at Blake, who was too frozen to draw her hand back. Blood pounded in her ears as her heart hammered against her ribs. It seemed like the entire arena, including her, was holding its breath as the display unfolded. Yang slid one finger down Blake’s wrist to rest against her pulse point, and Blake knew she could feel her racing heart. Yang simply smiled and said,

“Thank you for having me,” and rose, going back to Bumblebee and standing with the others.

Blake dropped her hand into her lap and swallowed, trying to relax. The sound of her father’s voice as he addressed the crowd faded into muffled background noise, and even her vision seemed to blur and distort until she rested her gaze on Ser Yang. She was undeniably gorgeous, radiant as a ray of light, warm and bold and courteous. And they had met before.

None of that mattered unless she won, and Blake knew better than to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! this fic is inspired by the genre of chivalric romance that noble ladies loved in the middle ages. hopefully by the end of it, Ser Yang and Princess Blake will have had a chivalric romance of their own.
> 
> hang out with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dandelionsnight) or [Tumblr!](https://dandelionsknight.tumblr.com/)


	2. To Protect the Weak and Defenseless

Yang spent the night thinking and dreaming about Princess Blake, her flushed cheeks in the chill air, the way her ears twitched when she was embarrassed, the thumping of her heart Yang felt through her wrist. Had the princess been able to feel the racing of her heart, too?

The whole tournament felt like an infuriating obstacle to win Princess Blake’s hand, and yet, it just might be Yang’s only chance at marrying her. She wasn’t a knight of particular wealth or renown. She’d spent most of her life as a wanderer, travelling from one small village to the next to fight off any Grimm that threatened the common people. All her life, she’d never been interested in wealth or titles or lands – just the clean adrenaline of a fight and the open stretch of road before her. But that life wasn’t enough to be with the princess.

Later today, Yang would fight in a free-for-all melee with a dozen of her competitors, but for now, the morning was hers. She wandered the marketplace of Kuo Kuana, enjoying the sun and the bustling commerce the tournament had brought to the usually secluded Menagerie. Yang almost wondered if King Ghira had arranged for the festivities for his kingdom’s sake as much as his daughter’s.

“Yang!”

Somehow over the sounds of wagon wheels and talking and coins exchanging hands, Yang heard her name and turned. She just barely made out the voice of her sister before Ruby slammed into her with a full-force hug.

Yang laughed and caught her, pretending to lose her balance. “You got my letter!”

“Of course I did!” Ruby said. “I would have responded, but you’re nearly impossible to find.”

She shrugged. “At least you’re here now.”

Ruby performed a mock bow for her sister. “Ruby Rose, faithful squire, at your service.”

“I’m so glad you came,” Yang said, beaming. “It’s been too long.”

“Aw, come on. Besides, how could I not? Did you see some of the armor and weapons that caravan from Atlas brought? They have some _beautiful_ pieces –”

Ruby grabbed her hand and Yang allowed herself to be pulled along. Her sister had decided to stay on Patch, the small island they’d grown up on, and train to become a blacksmith. Though Yang knew just enough smithing to repair her own equipment or Bumblebee’s horseshoes, she had no doubt Ruby was on her way to becoming a highly skilled blacksmith. She always talked about how one day she wanted to make a sword that was also a firearm – whatever that meant.

As Ruby poured over the arms, Yang wandered around inspecting the caravan’s other goods – fine salt, thick furs, bolts of woolen cloth, glittering jewelry, and crystals of dust.

“Looking to buy?”

Yang turned to the familiar voice and saw Lady Schnee standing next to her. Yang smiled and said, “Just admiring, I’m afraid.”

“Really?” she asked, casually plucking a ring from the table of jewelry. “Don’t you think the princess would appreciate a gift?”

The ring was made of gold, cast in the shape of two clasped hands. “I’m not sure jewelry would really impress her,” Yang said.

“I know,” she said. “Flashy jewels certainly won’t – that’s why I chose this. Simple, but elegant. Meaningful.”

“I’m not exactly burdened with lien, my lady.”

“Well that’s alright. How about we make a deal?”

“What kind of deal?”

Lady Schnee chuckled, turning the ring over in her hand. “After I saw you in the procession yesterday, I realized you had no wealth behind your title. As you advance in the tournament, how do you intend to best your competitors, who have money for sharper weapons, stronger shields, and finer gifts for the princess?”

“I’ve never needed any of that before.”

“Don’t you know that the victor receives spoils from the losers in all these events?”

Yang crossed her arms. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Haven’t you ever competed before?”

“No.”

She sighed and said, “I see. Well, here is my proposal: I want to be your sponsor, of a sort. I’ll supply you with sturdy lances and shields and fine gifts for the princess. Unfortunately, there’s not enough time to have a proper standard made for you, but I’ll make do with what I can find.”

“And in exchange?”

“In exchange, I’ll keep a portion of your winnings. And when you marry the princess, you won’t forget me.”

 _When you marry the princess_ , Yang thought. Hearing the words from someone else’s mouth rather than just dreaming them in her own heart made the wish seem so much more real. Without the help of Lady Schnee’s wealth and influence, how could she hope to be a serious contender for the princess?

Yang offered her hand. “I accept your generous offer.”

Lady Schnee shook her hand and said, “Smart as well as brave. Princess Blake truly is lucky.”

“Yang? Do you two know each other?” Ruby appeared beside her, smiling. “Hello – oh, you’re Weiss Schnee! Are all those arms really made in Atlas?”

“I traded for a few along the way, but most of them were made in Atlas, yes,” she said, straightening up and smoothing out her skirts. “And who might you be?”

Yang smiled and put a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “This is my sister, Ruby. She’ll be acting as my squire.”

“Well, Ruby, you’d be even more amazed by what Atlas has achieved with some of their arms. We once replaced a man’s leg with a metal one.”

“Really?” Ruby asked.

Lady Schnee nodded. “Anyway – lovely to meet you, Ruby. Ser Yang, I’ll have someone box this ring up for you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to –”

“I insist. Give it to the princess, the next time you see her.”

She returned in only a moment with the ring now inside a small box topped with a ribbon. They bid Lady Schnee farewell and continued exploring the market, Ruby marveling at the fine cloth and silver and gold trinkets that rarely made their way to Patch. Their browsing was interrupted by nearby commotion at a fruit stand.

“– was nothing, ser, I didn’t mean anything by it!”

They neared the scene, where a man in armor had reached across the table of fruits, spilling a number of them to the ground, to grab the shirt of the stammering merchant trying to explain himself. The man was shaking him, yelling,

“What’s a human doing in Menagerie, anyway? If you knew what was good for you, you’d get out of here before I see you again.”

Yang recognized him now, the bull horns sticking out of his helm, the black and red armor. It was Ser Adam, from the procession yesterday. She came up behind him and grabbed his arm.

“Let him go,” Yang said.

Adam turned – she could barely make out his face beneath his helm, but the anger radiating off him was palpable, like heat waves. “Who are you again?” he snapped.

She pried his hand off the merchant’s shirt. “Yang. Don’t remember me? And do you always wear full armor for a casual stroll?”

He dropped his hand and glowered at her. “Next time, keep to yourself.”

“He’s just an old man,” Ruby said, coming to stand beside Yang.

Adam scoffed and turned to walk away, but stopped, saying, “Your name is Yang? I believe we can settle this tomorrow – in the arena.”

Yang and Ruby checked on the merchant as he walked away. They gathered up the fallen fruits, salvaging the ones that hadn’t been too badly smashed or bruised – apples, pears, persimmons, and cranberries.

The merchant said, “Maybe it’s high time for me to get out of Menagerie anyway…”

“Don’t let him intimidate you,” Yang said.

“Yeah! Your apples are delicious,” Ruby said, biting into one. “Oh, is it okay that I have this? I might have some extra money – ”

“It’s quite alright,” the merchant said, then looked around nervously. “You haven’t heard the rumors?”

“Rumors?” Yang asked.

“Of a – a Grimm dragon, out in the mountains. People have been reporting that they can hear it for weeks. I even met one hunter who said he’d spotted it.”

“Spotted what?”

A current of nervous energy crackled beneath Yang’s skin at the sound of that voice – Princess Blake had managed to sneak up on them, even with a modest escort of guards trailing her. All around them, children were pointing and adults whispering among themselves at the sight of their princess among them. Her ears were perked inquisitively as she continued,

“I apologize – I didn’t mean to startle you. But I saw the trouble. Is everything alright, ser?”

The princess approached the fruit stand, practically ignoring Yang. The merchant bowed and said, “Your Highness, it’s an honor. I was merely telling these two about the possible sighting of a Grimm dragon on Menagerie, but of course, rumors _are_ rumors –”

“A wyvern,” Princess Blake said. “People refer to them as dragons, but it’s actually a wyvern. They’re exceedingly rare and powerful.”

“How do you know about them?” Yang asked, and when the princess looked at her, she added, “Your Highness.”

“I’ve read about them. In a bestiary of the Grimm.”

“Is that common light reading material for princesses?” Yang asked, tilting her head and smiling.

“For me, it is,” Princess Blake said, inspecting the fruits on the table. “May I?” she asked the merchant.

He gestured for her to take one and she picked up a pear, biting into it and immediately bringing up a hand to wipe the juice off her chin. Yang had to suppress a smile at the unrefined gesture. The princess said,

“It’s wonderful. Sweet.” She went digging in a pouch a produced a few lien, offering them to the merchant.

“No, I couldn’t possibly,” he said. “Please enjoy, Your Highness.”

“Just take them,” she said, with a smile that could convince dead flowers to grow, and the merchant bowed once more as he accepted the coins.

It was only as the princess was walking away that Yang remembered the small box in her hand, and she went after her, saying, “Wait!”

The princess turned, her guards all eyeing Yang. “Yes?”

“Do you recognize me?”

“Of course I do, Ser Yang. You made quite an impression yesterday.”

 _That’s not entirely what I meant,_ Yang thought, but continued anyway, “I have a gift for you. Are you allowed to accept gifts from us?”

The princess rolled her eyes. “Believe me, you’re not the only one.”

“Oh,” Yang said, feeling dumb. “Will you take this, then? Open it when you return home?”

The princess accepted the box from her, saying, “Thank you.”

“I hope you’ll grant me your favor,” Yang said. “We’ll be seeing each other soon.”

“We will,” Princess Blake said, and shook her head. “I’ll keep an eye out for you. Good afternoon, Ser Yang.”

“Afternoon, Your Highness.”

The princess disappeared into crowd, finishing the pear that she’d bought at the fruit stand. Yang was left smiling as she watched her go, strangely energized for the melee that awaited her as Ruby approached.

“So that’s her?” she asked. “From the way you wrote about her, I half expected her to be a figment of your imagination.”

Yang gave her a light punch on the shoulder. “Well, do you see that she’s real now?”

“And that’s who you’re going to marry if you win?”

“When I win,” Yang said.

Laughing, Ruby said, “You always were self-confident. How are you so sure?”

“I already love her,” Yang said, searching for her in the crowd even though she knew she’d already disappeared. “All of this is just formality.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the enjoyment of this chapter is enhanced if you picture the owner of the dust store from the first episode of Volume 1 as the fruit stand owner. I don't know, maybe that's just me! But one of a couple little easter eggs from Volume 1 hidden in this chapter. 
> 
> Today we only heard from Yang - I promise the next chapter we'll hear from Blake's POV. Thanks for sticking with a dialogue heavy chapter full of nerdiness for both RWBY and history! The next chapter will be action-packed to reward the patient reader. Thanks for reading and as always, hang out with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dandelionsnight) or [Tumblr!](https://dandelionsknight.tumblr.com/)


	3. To Eschew Unfairness, Meanness, and Deceit

Yang lowered her visor and wrapped a tight fist around Bumblebee’s reins. Though the cold morning air carried the first promise of winter, sweat dripped down her temples and pasted hair to the back of her neck. In her other hand, she hefted her lance, holding it parallel to the ground.

Blood pounded in her ears, the sound trapped inside her helm. Shifting in the saddle, she tensed as the herald raised his trumpet. On the other side of the arena, at the end of the tilt, she couldn’t even make out Ser Adam’s eyes. If the crowd was cheering, Yang couldn’t hear it over her heartbeat. She could not lose this joust.

The trumpet sounded. Bumblebee tore down the tilt as if to leave scorch marks on the ground, Yang’s heart punching into her throat. Ser Adam was bearing down on her; Yang gripped her lance hard enough to feel the strain on her bones, armor rattling each time her horse’s hooves struck the earth. Her limbs felt simultaneously like liquid and like lead. Her vision tunneled down to a pinprick, the tip of Ser Adam’s approaching lance as she braced, levelling hers.

She hit the ground with a gasp, air forced out of her. Her whole body was stunned, numb and tingling – the hit had been instant, striking her breastplate near her heart. She spit out blood, feeling the stinging in her mouth. She’d bit her tongue. Her chest ached. The crowd was roaring while Ser Adam did a victory lap around the arena, pumping his fist in the air.

Pushing herself off the ground, the crowd cheered more, and she looked around for her lance. Her head was buzzing. _Focus_ , she thought, retrieving the lance a few feet away and making her way back to Ruby, who was holding Bumblebee by the reins.

“You can do this,” Ruby said, eyes shining as she handed off the reins. “That was just a warm-up.”

She was right; Yang could already feel twice the strength surge through her from the blow she’d received. Yesterday, she’d bested her competition in the melee with ease, cutting down knights like stalks of grain. This joust was best two out of three. Ser Adam still had to unseat her a second time to win.

Climbing back onto Bumblebee, she shook off the buzzing in her head at last and looked over the stands until she found Princess Blake, the king and queen seated behind her, and Lady Schnee right next to her. So she’d been honest about knowing the princess, the two of them whispering together. Yang wondered if it was about her.

Princess Blake was beautiful in a black gown of crushed velvet, with billowing white sleeves and skirts, complete with a purple silk scarf around her shoulders. Before the tournament, Yang had never known her to wear such fine clothes, but she couldn’t deny how well they suited her. She looked so cool and regal, born for her station.

Tearing her eyes away, Yang refocused on her opponent. Ser Adam’s massive black destrier snorted and Bumblebee pawed at the ground with his hoof and shook out his mane. If she lost this next pass, she’d lose the match. Just the thought of Ser Adam coming closer than her to winning the princess made her blood sing with fury.

The herald took his place once more and Yang balanced her lance, resting it on the hook on her breastplate. She relaxed her face, first her forehead, then the creases around her eyes, and finally her jaw. The trumpet blasted and Bumblebee shot off like an arrow fired straight and true. Fixing her gaze on the rose carved onto Ser Adam’s breastplate, her semblance exploded out of her, muscles lit on fire for an instant.

She felt the strike reverberate down the lance, splinters raining down on her as she rode away. Her lance had shattered with an explosive sound, but looking over her shoulder, Ser Adam had not been unseated. The fire was dying inside her now as she tossed away the broken remains.

Jousting lances were made hollow and thus more breakable, as Lady Schnee had explained to her (Yang had never needed her lances _regulated_ before), to reduce the risk of impalement. But Yang shattering the lance instead of unseating Ser Adam meant the hit must not have been clean – she may have even struck him with the side of the lance rather than the tip.

Looking in the stands, Princess Blake’s face betrayed no expression, but her hands were gripped tightly together in her lap. Her faith in Yang’s victory was wavering. She shook her head and rode back to Ruby, taking a new lance. Ruby said something to her, probably more words of encouragement, but she didn’t catch them. She was dead set on her opponent, the smug way he set his shoulders.

Her vision was tinged with red as the trumpet sounded again and Bumblebee was galloping hard, the lance an extension of her fury, the rose coming into view as she breathed in, and struck. Ser Adam grunted and crashed to the ground. The crowd screamed, clapping and chanting her name. Riding a victory lap around the arena, close enough to see people’s smiling faces and reaching hands, she drank down their admiration like wine.

Ruby was clapping as Yang returned to her, and she tilted her visor at her sister. Ser Adam was beating the dust out of his cloak as he climbed back on his horse and snapped at his squire. But the cheering suddenly died. Yang saw Princess Blake was now standing, gesturing for the herald to step back. She then made eye contact with Yang and beckoned her to come. Yang could feel the stares of hundreds upon her.

Ruby whispered, “Go,” taking Bumblebee’s reins.

She dismounted as if in a haze, jumping into the stands. Though everyone was looking at her, a few fans reaching out as if to touch her, Yang waded through them with the princess as her guiding light. Only a moment ago, she’d felt victory so close at hand. Princess Blake was the only person who could distract her from that feeling.

~

Blake could tell Lady Schnee disapproved, from the little huff she made when she stood, but she had done it anyway. It was too late anyway – Yang had stopped in front of her and was still now, as if awaiting orders. In her golden armor, it was hard to look directly at her. Even on an overcast day like this, she shimmered with her own halo of light. 

“Take off your helmet,” Blake said. She refused to speak to a suit of armor.

Ser Yang obeyed, pulling it off. Dirt and sweat streaked her face, dappled with freckles and a few white scars, her usual flowing hair now flattened, flyaway hairs stirring in the wind.

“Come here,” she said, pulling the scarf from around her shoulders.

Again, the knight obeyed, taking a step closer to Blake. She closed the distance between them – Ser Yang smelled like sweat and metal and exertion, and like horse, too. As she began slowly tying the scarf around Ser Yang’s arm, she whispered,

“His lances aren’t hollow. If he hits you in the wrong place, he could kill you.”

It was all the words she could fit in while she double knotted the scarf. As she leaned back, Ser Yang was staring at her, eyes darting over her face. Did she think she would lie to her? Princess Blake knew it was true – Ser Adam had bragged about impaling unlucky opponents before.

She only wished she’d remembered the trick before the joust began. Causing an entire scene now would only bring unwanted attention to Ser Yang. Even if she lost this match, everyone would be talking about how Blake granted her a token of her favor instead of Ser Adam. Then, she could ask her father to deal with it quietly.

Ser Yang bowed and said, “Thank you, Your Highness. I will cherish your favor.”

“Go,” Princess Blake said.

She sat back down while Ser Yang made her way back to her horse. Despite the brief lull, the crowd was once again talking among themselves, no doubt trying to guess what Blake had said to her. Lady Schnee huffed once again.

“Don’t you want your champion to be safe?” Blake asked. She already knew all about how the merchant was sponsoring Ser Yang with the same flashy standards and arms as the rest of her opponents.

“Yes, but unlike you, I _believe_ in her,” Lady Schnee said, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “So what if his lances aren’t hollow? She’ll unseat him before he can touch her again.”

Blake shook her head. “You don’t know either of them like I do.”

Ser Yang had made it back to Bumblebee and was accepting a lance from her squire. Blake motioned for the herald to go ahead. He stepped up and raised his trumpet while Blake steeled her expression, watching Ser Yang touch the scarf on her arm before returning her hand to the reins. In previous rounds, she’d shifted in the saddle, but now she remained still, lance steady. Had she believed what Blake told her, or did she believe in her own ability more?

The trumpet rang out and Blake fixed her gaze on Ser Adam’s lance now. Rounds could be so quick that with a blink, she might miss the moment of impact. Their horses charged down the tilt, cloaks snapping in the wind, crowd crying out for victory from one or the other, and at the last second, she saw it – Ser Adam flicked the tip of his lance up, and not only was it not hollow, it wasn’t blunted, either. He must have swapped it while she’d given Ser Yang her scarf.

She couldn’t watch, turning her head away at the collision, followed by the sound of a body striking the earth. Looking back at the arena, Ser Adam was riding away, the incessant roar of the crowd drowning out even Blake’s thoughts. Ser Yang lay in a cloud of dust, but she had her hands braced on the ground, holding herself up.

“What happened?” she demanded, turning to Lady Schnee.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lady Schnee said, releasing what had clearly been a white-knuckled grip on her chair and glaring at Ser Adam, as he performed yet another victory lap. “Where did he come from, anyway? I’ve never heard his name before.”

“You’ve never heard of the White Fang?”

“What, that order of rogue knights? I’ve heard of them, but I never imagined they were so famous.”

Blake shook her head, watching as Ser Yang got to her feet, taking off her helmet. Bumblebee wandered over and tried to take a bite out of her hair. She rubbed his nose and led him away by the reins, her squire following. Had she even seen what Ser Adam had been trying to do – “accidentally” aim his lance too high to strike her in the throat?

Lady Schnee bid her farewell – no doubt to berate Ser Yang for the loss, since she’d be paying the victory spoils out of her own pocket. Blake didn’t worry about Ser Yang too much, though. She could handle it. The next joust wouldn’t take place until the afternoon, so as the spectators were leaving the arena and crowding around Ser Adam, she and her parents returned to the castle.

“Father?” she asked, as soon as they had crossed the courtyard and made it into the great hall. “May I speak to you?”

Her mother smiled. “How about I come find the two of you later?”

“Certainly,” her father said. “How about a walk in the gardens?”

Blake followed him out to the castle’s garden. With the morning now melting into day, the wind carried only a refreshing briskness. In the past few years spent in her tower, the gardens had been one of the only places her father allowed her to go. She knew each clipped hedge and soft petal like old friends. They walked past a bed of sweet alyssum, tiny purple flowers releasing sweet scent into the air.

“What would you like to discuss?” her father finally asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“The joust this morning. Next time, I’d like to have all the champion’s weapons examined beforehand. Ser Adam wasn’t using the proper arms,” Blake said, fighting to keep her tone light and neutral.

Her father hummed and ran a hand through his beard. “What makes you think that?”

“Weren’t you looking? The tip of it wasn’t even blunted. He might have killed her.”

“Don’t let pride blind you to the truth of a fair match, Blake.”

She instantly bristled. “Pride? I didn’t say anything about that.”

“No, but you gave your favor to the loser. It’s perfectly fine to be wrong sometimes. Besides, ultimately, it won’t matter who you give favors to. Only the champion can marry you.”

“I’d still like to have the weapons examined. How can you feel confident that a knight is a champion with rumors of cheating in the air?”

Her father considered, stopping in front of the mums. Nearby, a stone fountain was bubbling, and Blake had the strong urge to stick her head beneath the water and scream. Finally, he said, “Very well. I will look into it. In the meantime, try not to play favorites with these young knights. You’ll crush them.”

Sighing, Blake said, “I understand, Father.”

He left her in the garden, to stare at the golden mums and think of the knight in golden armor who’d left the arena with the token of Blake’s favor still tied on her arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief moment of respect for Ghira Belladonna...I know he's a much better father in canon, but unfortunately in my fic, he has to function to my devices. From here forward, there should be an exponential increase in Bees interactions per chapter, although I can't pretend and say I didn't enjoy writing this one. My interest in jousting, in addition to chivalric romance, was one of the reasons I wanted to write this fic. 
> 
> Anyway - thanks for making it down here, leave a comment if you feel like it, and hang out with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dandelionsnight) or [Tumblr!](https://dandelionsknight.tumblr.com/)


	4. The Lover’s Every Deed is Performed with the Thought of Her Beloved in Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some mention of alcohol in this chapter, in case that may be a trigger for anyone reading. Enjoy!

Music was drifting through the air like the smoke rising from dozens of candles burning in the great hall. After the day’s jousts, Blake’s father was hosting one of many feasts that would take place throughout the tournament. The hall was filled with long tables for all the knights and their noble parties to dine together, watched over by the purple banners draped on every wall.

Blake and her parents sat at a table on a raised dais at the very front. She’d always found feasts lonely, even as a child, imagining the dais as a deserted island among the crowd. Musicians were playing on harps, flutes, and drums, knights and nobles gathering in the center of the hall to dance. She watched with quiet envy as Ser Yang smiled at a lady and took her hand.

Her father had wasted no opportunity demonstrating his power, serving the entire room a lavish dinner. They’d started with thick soup flavored with rosemary before moving onto platters of salmon, venison, and wild boar, until finally, the servants brought out whole, roasted swans on shining platters. It seemed to her that spectacle triumphed over taste – most of the food was soaked in wine or vinegar, then dashed with ginger or even honey. She’d always associated the sweet-sour tang with dining at court.

With the meal largely done, all that remained on the tables was sweets, white cream with strawberries, plums bathed in rose water, and candied fruits. Her mother had been watching her with a steady gaze since the servants had brought dessert, and Blake sipped her wine to avoid eye contact. Finally, her mother leaned forward, resting her hand on top of Blake’s and said,

“You should join them.”

Blake hadn’t attended a feast like this in years, partially by choice and partially not, let alone participated in dancing. “Really?”

“Yes,” her mother said, smiling. “I’m sure all these young knights want to dance with you.”

Of course. Dancing was all about growing closer to her countless suitors. As she moved to stand, she looked over the room, made sure Ser Adam was already speaking to someone else. She also saw Ser Yang, dancing with Lady Schnee, who glittered like a winter morning in her white and pale blue gown, accented by red jewelry at her ears and throat. No doubt, the two of them were conspiring about how to secure Ser Yang a victory, after the joust today.

Blake made her way down the dais and felt the air in the room shift as knights noticed her. She counted at least three walking toward her and almost froze in place. How could Ser Yang stand it in the arena, the eyes of so many strangers upon her?

“Your Highness?”

She looked up to see a knight standing before her, clothed all in white. When his monkey’s tail drifted out from behind his legs, Blake remembered him.

“Ser Sun,” she said, and he bowed.

“Would you care to dance?”

“I would, thank you,” Blake said.

Many of the court dances involved everyone moving in a circle as pairs, holding hands as if going on a walk, but shuffling to the time of the music instead, with the occasional hop or jig every fourth or sixteenth step. This, blessedly, was simple enough for even Blake to do.

They joined the dancers rotating around the hall. Chatter rose and crashed in the air with the sound of clattering dishes and music, and the heavy smell of dinner still lingered, strong wine and roasted meats. Blake flattened her ears against her head and tried to relax the tension in her face and body.

“Not a fan of crowds?” Ser Sun finally asked.

He had a calming air about him, holding her hand gently, really only their palms touching. She said, “I suppose I’m not used to it, is all.”

“Is it true you’ve been in that tower all your life?”

For a moment, she bristled, but he didn’t seem to know any better. Sighing, she said, “Of course not. Only for a couple years. And even then, I _could_ leave, to the gardens or the kitchen.”

“But not outside the castle walls?”

“No, not outside the walls,” Blake said, looking around once more for Ser Yang.

She found her dancing with someone new, someone Blake recognized – Lady Velvet Scarlatina, a pair of rabbit ears poking out from her shiny brown hair. Ser Yang had made Lady Scarlatina laugh, and she put a hand on the knight’s arm while she smiled. Blake’s face felt hot, her throat thick.

Ser Sun asked, “Are you alright? Do you need a drink?”

Her attention drifted back to him, and she sucked in a large breath. “No, thank you. I’m sorry. You must think I’m a terrible dance partner.”

“Not at all,” Ser Sun said. “I can only imagine what it must feel like, having your marriage determined by a bunch of games.”

She was shocked at how self-aware he was. “Ser Sun, why did you come to compete?”

“To tell you the truth, I wanted to make a name for myself. I know I won’t win, not with Ser Adam or Pyrrha or even that other woman, Yang, participating.”

Blake searched his face, the uncomplicated portrait his relaxed forehead and slight smile painted, and realized he was telling the truth. “Then why ask me to dance?”

“You looked as if you might faint,” Ser Sun said, and did a little jig on his next step “It was the chivalrous thing to do, after all.”

After she’d just started to fully relax around him, she rolled her eyes. As the current song ended, Ser Sun bowed and handed her off to the next knight. Ser Ilia pushed her way towards Blake the moment Ser Adam tried to cross the room towards her. Despite their history together, Ser Ilia made it as painless as possible, telling Blake about how she’d left the White Fang behind to make her own fortune. Blake felt truly, genuinely happy for her.

She danced with a few other knights who were faceless in her memory, songs fading into each other as the night wore on. Eventually, even all the noise faded to a dull buzz in the back of her head. Though she continued to search for Ser Yang in the crowd, the knight never so much as looked at her, always busy refilling ladies’ cups of wine and smiling at them and making gestures clearly reenacting her victory in the melee.

Blake couldn’t understand. Did Ser Yang resent her for the events of the joust? Pausing for a break, for a sip of wine to try and clear her head, Blake considered retiring for the night. Her feet ached; her eyelids were heavy. There would be many more days and nights of festivities to come. Perhaps it was best to save her energy now.

She stole one last glance at Ser Yang, who was finally alone now, drinking wine and watching the musicians. Blake shook her head. All night, she’d been pouting like a child. Making her way along the wall to avoid the other knights, she made her over to Ser Yang.

As if expecting her, Ser Yang set her cup down and smiled. Her hair was shimmering like spun gold in the low light, and Blake had no doubt Lady Schnee was responsible for the fine silk doublet she wore. Her cheeks were flushed, from the dancing or the wine or both, but she still managed to lean against the table and appear unbothered.

“Your Highness,” Ser Yang said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Blake bit the inside of her cheek. “Must I have to ask?”

“A dance, then?”

Her only response was to take Ser Yang’s hand. They slipped into the circle, and after only a few steps, Ser Yang said, “I should thank you for saving my life today.”

“You saw it too, then?”

She nodded. “I twisted and fell intentionally. You were right. He would have pierced me in the throat.”

“I spoke to my father about it. With luck, it won’t happen again.”

“Ser Adam’s behavior won’t take him fair,” Ser Yang said, twining their fingers together, tighter than normal for mere dance partners. “I’m not concerned about him.”

“You should be. He’s a dangerous enemy.”

Ser Yang lifted Blake’s hand, running her thumb over the gold ring, cast in the shape of two clasped hands, that she wore. “You’re wearing the gift I gave you.”

Blake immediately looked away, hoping the hair that spilled over her shoulder would hide the rush of warmth to her cheeks. “Wouldn’t it be rude not to?”

“You said I wasn’t the first to give you a gift,” Ser Yang said. “Are you wearing the others, too?”

Wetting her lips, which suddenly felt dry, she said, “It’s rare that I find jewelry I like.”

“So you like it, then?”

Of course she liked it. It was a small reminder of Ser Yang, that she could touch anytime she wanted and think of the knight appearing like a dream before her. But the words wouldn’t come, stuck somewhere between her heart and her tongue.

Ser Yang dropped their hands and said, “It was only a question.”

Blake turned to look at her, as they stopped moving, the last notes plucked out on the strings. The vein in her neck was pulsing. Finally, she said, “Yes. I like it.”

“I’m glad,” Ser Yang said, smiling at her. The same way Blake had watched her smile at countless other ladies all night.

“Why have you been ignoring me?” Blake asked, the words tumbling out all at once, so fast she wasn’t even sure Ser Yang could understand them.

“Ignoring you?” The knight looked genuinely surprised, brows drawn together, mouth half open.

The music was starting up again, this time a livelier tune. Blake moved to walk away. She felt so foolish, just asking the question. She felt even more foolish that she couldn’t make out what Ser Yang’s intentions were. But the knight pulled her in close and said,

“Another dance. Please.”

Ser Yang’s face was just a few inches from her, and she laid a hand on the knight’s shoulder to steady herself. The air felt hot and dense, almost stifling, but despite herself, Blake nodded.

They stepped back into a similar position from before, holding hands as if taking a stroll. Though Blake recognized the tune, it had been years since she’d danced to it, so she had no choice but to follow Ser Yang’s lead – two steps together, then a hop, two more steps, and another hop. Simple enough.

She could have looked around, seen what other pairs were doing and mirror them, but not with Ser Yang as her partner. Being in her sphere was like diving into a beloved book, but instead of losing herself in the pages, she was lost in the warm callouses on Ser Yang’s palm, the hair that refused to lay flat on top of her head, the way her body followed the music like instinct.

When Ser Yang suddenly pulled her in, wrapping her other arm around Blake’s waist, she didn’t so much as flinch. In fact, as if guided, she rested one hand on Ser Yang’s shoulder, the other falling away from the knight’s grasp. Ser Yang’s hands closed around Blake’s hips and she lifted her, spinning the both of them. For just a moment, she felt weightless, before her feet touched the ground once more. They took another step and Ser Yang lifted her again, and this time, Blake laughed, her skirts whirling as she touched down. 

She spun her two more times before they returned to their original position, stepping and hopping. Blake’s stomach felt warm and fluttery, though the feeling was not entirely unwelcome. For the first time all night, her shoulders were relaxed down from her ears, and smiling felt natural.

“I’m sorry if you felt ignored,” Ser Yang finally said. “I didn’t want too many rumors to spread, about you and I.”

 _Oh._ It was so simple, when the knight said it like that. “Yes,” Blake said, and laughed at herself. “That’s good thinking. You might be even better at court politics than I am.”

Ser Yang laughed too. “I doubt that. Lady Schnee fed me the idea earlier. You know, you’re a far better dancer than her.”

“Really? I always thought I wasn’t very good.”

“I think you’re wonderful.”

Ser Yang pulled her in again, and this time, Blake consciously put her hand on her shoulder, gripping the smooth fabric of her doublet. She smelled different now than she had earlier, like the rose water they washed their hands with after dinner, and new leather. Somehow, Blake had preferred the scent of sweat and metal that had clung to her in the aftermath of a fight.

When Ser Yang spun her around, Blake felt like she might just float away, up into the night sky, flying from the castle and away from Menagerie. Hopefully, Ser Yang would find her wherever she touched down, but just the thought of flight was enough. She could practically taste the fresh wind, feel it in her hair.

When the knight set her down for the final time, Blake moved to hold hands again, but instead Ser Yang tugged her close, a hand on the small of her back. A shiver travelled up to her neck, tingling all the way down to her fingertips. Ser Yang said, softly,

“Come see me tonight. I’m staying at the Sleepy Huntsman Inn. We need to talk, without so many prying eyes and ears.”

Blake scarcely had time to recover before Ser Yang spun her back out and they resumed the steps again. Though she felt like staring at the knight with her mouth agape, she smoothed her face into an expression of regal indifference. Internally, though, her heart was threatening to tear free from her chest.

“I…” she started.

“Think about it,” Ser Yang said. “I’ll be waiting.”

The song’s last notes faded away and Ser Yang bowed. Blake returned the gesture with a curtsy, though as she was standing, she saw him, Ser Adam, shoving his way through the crowd toward them. Ser Yang acted only a second before she did, saying loud enough for the nearby guards to hear,

“What’s that, Your Highness? You need an escort back to your chambers?”

Blake’s ears twitched and she sent Ser Yang a grateful smile. “Yes, I was just thinking about how late it is.”

A pair of royal guards approached her, and Ser Yang bowed again before slipping away, grabbing a cup of wine off one of the tables and walking right into Ser Adam with it, spilling liquid all down his shirtfront. As Blake retreated from the hall, she heard him cursing at Ser Yang, and covered her mouth with her hand to suppress a laugh.

Even so, the joy quickly faded. She couldn’t believe how forward Ser Yang had been with her request. The dancing had been some of the only enjoyment she’d had in so long, but even still, going to see her wasn’t wise. Ser Yang wasn’t infallible; her loss yesterday had proved that. It didn’t matter how much Blake wanted it, wanted her. It could very well be that at the end of the tournament, all she would have left of her was memories.

Blake was much better off going to bed, and letting Ser Yang remain a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking Chapter 4 here and most if not all of Chapter 5 will be an extended Blake POV, and then we'll hear from Yang again. if anyone is at all interested, the more upbeat dance that Blake and Yang do is called La Volta, and is very fun to watch clips of. from my observation, there's lot of hopping in medieval dances. 
> 
> thanks for making it all the way down here! I was so glad that Yang and Blake had the chance to interact more in this chapter, and i'm really looking forward to the next one - it's been playing out in my imagination for a while now. leave a comment if you feel like it, andhang out with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dandelionsnight) or [Tumblr!](https://dandelionsknight.tumblr.com/)


	5. Eating and Sleeping Diminish Greatly When One is Aggravated by Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for physical abuse by Adam, as well as a mention of blood. There's also mention of alcohol toward the end of the chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

Blake sank her face into her pillow, trying to will herself to fall asleep. Though the sheets were cool, the air still, the moon spilling faint light on the floor of her bedchambers, her mind buzzed with Ser Yang’s request. She’d slipped out of the castle before, to walk along the beach and clear her head.

No. This would be far different, coming face to face with Ser Yang for the first time in a long time where they would not have to perform for anyone watching. She wouldn’t do it. She shouldn’t do it.

Climbing out of bed, Blake lit a candle and sat down with a book she’d been reading for about a week now, a collection of ancient poetry. A few pages of reading might finally tire her mind out. She’d left off in the middle of a poem, and mouthed to herself:

_The suns are able to fall and rise_

_when once the brief light falls_

_one endless night must be slept by us._

_Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred,_

_then another thousand, then a second hundred…_

The words scattered inside her mind, swirling and dissipating like smoke, and she found herself reading the same verses over and over again. She imagined spending one endless night with Ser Yang. Blowing out the candle, Blake closed the book, and crossed over to her dresser.

Buried underneath all the finery, she’d stashed plain clothes. Changing into them, pulling a rough-spun cloak around her shoulders, she then eased open the window to her balcony and crept her way down the stones jutting out from the walls of the castle. She left the castle grounds, little more than one more shadow cast by the moonlight.

It hadn’t always been this way, trapped in her tower, but it had been ever since she’d disappeared with the White Fang when she was thirteen years old. They’d come through Menagerie, a travelling band of knights and mercenaries. All her life, Blake had been fed duty, etiquette, decorum, all the trappings of a proper princess. She’d been hungry for what the White Fang offered – liberation, independence, a free spirit.

Ser Adam was already a full-fledged knight the day she met him, when she was reading beneath a willow tree while her father was off on one of his dull hunting trips. The knight introduced her to himself and the White Fang, and treated her like an adult, looking into her eyes and telling her what a clever mind she had.

So she left with them. The White Fang stole her away on a ship at night, and she’d tossed her crown into the sea, watching sparkling jewels and black ribbon sink beneath the foaming waves. She believed she’d been freed.

She grew accustomed to the travelling lifestyle, sleeping with tree roots digging into her back and eating gamey meat spit-roasted over a fire each night. She passed along her knowledge of the Grimm, after years spent reading bestiaries, to aid them in the contracts they took, and learned how to move through shadow and listen for secrets spilled by townsfolk and nobles alike.

Through it all, she bathed in the dark waters of Ser Adam’s attention, his eyes set never far from where she was. On her fourteenth birthday, with the whole band singing and dancing and drinking around the bonfire exhaling burning embers into the night, he pulled her to him and kissed her. All she remembered was the taste of smoke.

He called her “darling” and “love” and eventually, let her sleep in his tent with him.

As time went on, the White Fang were taking on increasingly violent jobs under Ser Adam’s leadership. Taking on contracts from petty lords, they ran down ordinary people living on land that supposedly belonged to nobles. The pay was high, but so was the cost. Around the same time, Ser Adam started entering small tournaments, using trick lances to impale his opponents. They left trails of bodies in their wake, and soon enough, Ser Adam smelled only of blood.

Ilia, who’d become Blake’s friend and confidante over the years, was just as unhappy with all the violence as she was, but the both of them found themselves trapped. Blake knew she needed to get out, to get away from _him_. Even if she didn’t go home to Menagerie, she needed to go somewhere.

One night, just after her sixteenth birthday, she filled a pack with dried rations, a water skin, and flint and steel, strapped a hunting knife to her belt, and stole away from the White Fang’s camp. After just half a day of riding, they’d chosen the spot because of the running water nearby, roaring at the bottom of a steep ravine.

She wasn’t sure if it was by carelessness or unluckiness, but someone in camp realized that she was gone, and she had to bolt into the trees, following the sound of the water. Ser Adam pursued her on horseback, the same way he might run down a deer, and once he caught her, leapt down from the saddle and threw her to the ground. 

“Did you honestly believe you could run from me, my darling?” Ser Adam asked, planting a boot on her chest and plunging his sword into her side.

The pain was unlike anything she’d ever felt before, her vision going white with it. She struggled to breathe beneath his foot pressing on her chest. He slid out the blade, slick with dark blood, and she cried out. Crouching down, he snatched up her shirtfront, and she reached for the knife on her belt. Grasping the hilt just as he leaned his head down, she stabbed the knife into his arm with all the strength she possessed.

She had just seconds to move as he recoiled, letting out a guttural cry of pain, so she scrambled forward and threw herself toward the ravine. The world tilted, lurching past her as she rolled end over end until finally, her whole body smarting and aching, landed at the bottom. She went limp, feigning death. It wasn’t entirely difficult.

From high above her, she heard his cruel sneer carry on the wind: “I’m not going down there. Look at her limbs, she’s broken like a toy. She couldn’t have survived the fall.”

The sound was louder here, the babbling of water over stones, and she tried to focus on that instead of the pain arching through each muscle. Blood was seeping into her shirt. Blackness crept along the edges of her vision – if she could just rest for a moment, then she could find the strength to get away. Her last thought was of the open sprawl of sky before her once she was finally free.

She woke inside an unfamiliar tent, a wool blanket draped over her. Outside the tent flap, a young woman, golden-haired and stocky with muscle, was hanging wet strips of cloth over a fire. It was day, and Blake had to turn away from the light stinging her eyes.

“You’re awake,” the young woman said, coming inside the tent.

Her throat was dry and hot, and her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Though her whole body ached, each limb tender in its own way, she felt warm. Safe.

“I’m Yang,” she said, bringing a skin of water up to Blake’s lips. “Here.”

She drank messily, water dripping down her chin. Yang wiped it off for her with her own shirt sleeve, saying, “I’ve done what I can, but you need to see a real physician. I know someone a couple villages over.”

Blake nodded, listening without fully comprehending. She shut her eyes and tried to ignore the throbbing in her side, eventually falling asleep once again just as Yang bent over her to change the bandages.

The next time, the brush of a hand on her forehead woke her. Yang was combing through Blake’s hair with her fingers, pulling out pine needles, leaves, and other forest floor debris. It’d been a while since Blake had felt a touch as gentle as someone combing out her hair.

“Hold on,” Yang said, slipping outside the tent flap.

The world felt so soft and hazy, Blake couldn’t tell exactly how much pain she was in. Just that she’d never been so tired in her whole life. Yang returned holding a steaming bowl and the skin of water.

Blake lifted her head and drank, then ate a few spoonfuls of hot broth that Yang offered. “I know you must feel terrible,” Yang said. “But we’re going to have leave in the morning. For now, just rest.”

Again, Blake fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep. In the morning, she sat behind Yang on her saddle, clinging to the other girl’s waist. As promised, Yang brought her to see two of her friends, Pyrrha and Juane. Juane worked as a physician, specializing in aura. He was able to heal Blake through the use of her aura.

After a week spent resting up, Blake ended up leaving the village with Yang. She hadn’t even questioned that Blake would come along, just extended a hand down to Blake with a smile and lifted her onto Bumblebee’s saddle behind her.

Yang had ambitions to become a knight, though for now, she wandered the countryside taking on contracts for rogue Grimm and earning her money that way. Blake contributed what she could to these contracts, the same way she had with the White Fang – she’d read about many of the creatures of Grimm, and helped Yang learn their behavior and weaknesses.

Yang didn’t pry into her life, didn’t even ask why she’d found Blake at the bottom of that ravine. Not until Blake was ready to tell her the reason.

During a long dry spell for contracts, the two of them ended up working on a family’s farm. Yang kept the wolves away and repaired the fences, the farming tools, and the horseshoes. Blake completed sewing projects around the house and helped them get their taxes in order.

In their last days on the farm, she even learned how to tend to the crops in the field. All her life, she’d never crouched in the dirt before, the sun beating down on the back of her neck. The two of them plucked winter corn from the stalks and mowed hay with scythes, to clear out the fields for summer seeds. In the dry afternoon heat, the culmination of a full day of sun, they stacked the hay on top of stone foundations.

Blake collapsed by one of the newly repaired fences, looking out over the rich, dark earth they’d spent a week helping cultivate. Nearly every part of her body felt sore. Yang sat beside her, setting down a jingling pouch of lien between them.

“Not too bad,” Yang said. “What do you think? Should we leave tonight or tomorrow?”

“Please,” Blake said. “Tomorrow.”

Yang chuckled. “Where did you say you grew up?”

Folding her ears back, Blake said, “I didn’t say.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I must have forgotten,” Yang said.

For a couple minutes, Blake didn’t say anything, hoping the empty sound of the wind would speak for her. But finally she said, “Would you believe me if I told you I was a princess?”

Yang cocked her head, as if truly thinking about. “I would,” she finally said. “You have all the skills of someone born noble.”

“And what exactly are noble skills?”

“I don’t know how to sew that fancy,” Yang said, laughing and pushing on her arm.

She shook her head, but didn’t entirely mind the teasing. While they rested, Blake told Yang the full truth, that she was a runaway princess, and that she’d gone with the White Fang for just a taste of the freedom she craved.

Yang was the easiest person to talk with Blake had ever met. They compared stories they’d grown up on in Menagerie and Patch. Yang talked about how her father and uncle had been knights before her and had spent the better part of her childhood training her to fight. She even opened up about how her mother had left her at a young age, leaving her to take care of her younger sister.

In her days spent with Yang, the golden hours of spring and summer, Blake felt like she could finally release the past, let it blow away like petals in the wind.

Yang taught her how to shoot a bow, instructing her on how to pull back the string, placing her hand between Blake’s shoulder blades in a way that made her cheeks warm. She taught her how to fish in the running river, rolling up their trousers to the knee and grabbing the slick, writhing bodies of salmon with their bare hands. Afterwards, they’d cook them over the roaring fire till the skin blackened and flaked off.

In return, Blake taught Yang the noble qualities of a knight. They would practice all the court dances in the clearings they chose for campsites, dancing with no music, just the soft whispering of Blake counting while Yang almost immediately grew more skilled at the dance than she was. She taught her how to bow, how to address nobility, and how to dine at a king’s table.

They bathed in ponds and streams, Blake submerging herself in the cold, smooth water while Yang served as a lookout. Part of her felt relieved they didn’t bathe together, but another part of herself she couldn’t quite explain wished that they did. After she was clean, she would do the same for Yang, never daring to look over her shoulder.

One night, they lay in a field of lilac near their camp. The sky above them was deep blue and purple, white stars like ribbons of spun sugar streaked across it. Blake felt like she might just sink into the earth, surrounded by the crushed scent of lilac, Yang’s body beside her somehow even warmer than the summer air.

Stretching up a hand to the sky, Yang said, “Do you know any constellations?”

“I’ve seen a couple maps,” Blake said. “In books.”

“Of course,” Yang said, chuckling. “Sometimes I use them to navigate us, at night. My dad taught me all the names. See that one? That’s the Stag.”

She pointed at a cluster of stars and Blake squinted, trying to find the pattern. “Where are the antlers?”

“Right there,” Yang said, taking Blake’s hand and guiding it to the place she was pointing. The brush of their fingers made Blake’s stomach flutter. “See the blue stars at the tips?”

Nodding, Yang went on, “He’s supposed to embody the god of light. They say he’s always depicted with stag horns.”

Blake searched the sky, until she found a twisting and turning cluster of stars. “How about that one? The Sea Feilong?”

“A dragon that only lives in the seas,” Yang said. “You know, if I avoid travelling by sea all together, that’s one less Grimm to slay.”

“Well, what if people living by the sea need you to defend them from it?”

Yang turned to look at her, and Blake saw the twinkling lights of hundreds of stars reflected in her eyes. “Then I imagine I’d have no other choice but to fight it.”

When Blake was with Yang, she felt like she was floating through time, never losing it or wasting it, but simply drifting in the warm sea of Yang’s attention. In the last days of summer, Yang asked if she wanted to leave the kingdom of Anima and travel with her to Patch, to meet her family. Blake had agreed and while they were in town collecting the lien for a contract, they secured passage on a ship.

The last night they spent together, they slept side by side in the tent, the same way they always had. Blake didn’t mind it, even when the heat hung thick and humid in the air. She lay awake, watching the steady rise and fall of Yang’s breathing, her mouth slightly open, the occasional twitch of her eyebrow. Blake had felt it then, the great stretch of the future unfurling before her, brimming with precious possibility. She had believed every night would be like that, every day would be the two of them adventuring, never lost while at each other’s side.

She had wanted, so much it made her stomach hurt, to kiss Yang. To lean over and brush strands of hair off her forehead, to count her innumerable freckles like the immortal stars they lie awake mapping out. Wanted to kiss her, and more, meet each other skin to skin, bodies slotting together like the pieces of a puzzle box.

But they would have time for that. So she had believed.

The next morning, waiting at the docks to board the ship, Blake heard the words no one had spoken to her for years:

“Your Highness? Princess Blake?”

She had turned, the horror undoubtedly written on her face. It was one of her father’s knights, a purple cloak with the sigil of Menagerie snapping in the salty sea breeze behind him. The moment she turned to Yang, she knew Yang understood, too. For this knight, she, the long-lost princess, had been found at last. Her past had come to drag her back to royal life with tooth and claw.

So Blake had pretended she didn’t know Yang, as she disappeared into the crowd while the knight approached. She made up her whole story – how she’d only just escaped the White Fang a few days ago, how grateful she was to have someone to finally bring her home, all the words she knew the knight wanted to hear.

As she followed him away, she turned and saw Yang, clutching Bumblebee’s reins, standing at the edge of the docks. She raised a hand in farewell to Blake, golden hair snatched up in the wind, somehow still smiling even now, as the ground was tipping and falling out from beneath Blake.

Blake turned away, tears springing up in the corners of her eyes. She was seventeen when she returned to Menagerie, when her father declared she would remain in her tower, after she had left once. The terrible part of it all was that Blake hardly fought it, meandering through the halls of her private quarters like a ghost, losing herself in books. She had strived once for freedom, and couldn’t find it within herself to do so again. Not for a while, at least.

So she stayed in her tower, and thought of the long summer spent with Yang, and waited the day of her eventual, dreaded wedding. That is, until she proposed the tournament.

Blake found the Sleepy Huntsman inn, winding her way through the side streets of Kuo Kuana to avoid recognition. Pushing through the doors, the smell of sharp alcohol and sweat hit her, patrons filling almost every table, throwing cards and lien onto the tables, banging their tankards, and laughing raucously. She could imagine nearly a hundred other places she’d rather be.

The light was dim, oil lanterns burning low around the room, but she saw her, Ser Yang, sipping on a drink in the corner, leaning back in her chair, one foot resting against the table. When Blake saw her wearing home-spun shirt and trousers, she felt more at ease than she ever had seeing the knight in her armor. Weaving her way through the chaos, scooting past the barmaids trying to push through all the drunk patrons, Blake made her way to Ser Yang’s corner table.

The knight was looking up at her, face lit by the glow of a candle in the middle of the table. Orange light played along the curve of the cupid’s bow above her lips, the strong line of her jaw, even the slight laugh lines around her eyes.

“You came,” Ser Yang said.

Blake looked at anything else in the room other than her eyes. “I did.”

“May I buy you a drink?” Ser Yang asked, standing, pulling out the other chair from the table.

Sitting down, smoothing out her trousers and lowering the hood of her cloak, Blake said, “I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we made it to chapter 5! I needed to take a bit of a rest this past week, but i'm so glad to return to medieval AU. this chapter is a little different from all the others, but there's something about that sweet spot in between narration and memory that I just love. i promise we'll hear again from yang in the next chapter. 
> 
> the poetry excerpt at the beginning comes from Catallus 5, since i do love catallus's latin poetry. though of course he wouldn't have existed in remnant, i have to imagine some ancient poet equivalent did. 
> 
> that just about wraps it up! i'm trying out accepting prompts on my tumblr rn, so i have a couple things in the works. thanks for reading, leave a comment if you feel like it, and as always, hang out with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dandelionsnight) or [Tumblr!](https://dandelionsknight.tumblr.com/)


	6. Until It Pleases Her Beloved, No Act or Thought is Worthy to the Lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of alcohol.

“How about a game of piquet?”

Yang smiled at Princess Blake as she reached inside her pocket and pulled out a deck of cards. Their corners were worn soft, the ink faded. On more than one occasion, they’d helped her pay for a night’s dinner after betting on a game.

The princess took a sip of her ale – the hard leather mug was hilariously large in her hands, and she held it the same way she might a cup of tea, both hands cupped around it, yet still managing to make the sip elegant.

“It’s been a while since I’ve played,” she said.

“But you had such a good teacher.”

Yang had taught her piquet during their time together those two long years ago. They would play by the firelight, enveloped by the sounds of singing frogs and hooting owls, snacking on what remained of dinner, the princess begging her for just one more game. The competitive side of her had surprised Yang. But she was always full of surprises.

Shaking her head, the princess said, “Is this why you asked me here? To play cards?”

The curtain wall she kept between herself and others was up, but Yang could see the smile forming at the corners of her lips. She said, “I wanted to see you, that’s all. We don’t have to.”

“Let’s do it.”

Yang shuffled the cards and said, “I’ll even be generous and deal first.”

Normally for piquet, it was preferable to deal second, since the non-dealer would play the first card. But Yang figured Princess Blake might need a little advantage, if it had been a while since she’d last played.

Dealing twelve cards to each of them, Yang then sorted her hand by suit. Princess Blake had the opportunity to exchange some of her cards with the ones that hadn’t been dealt.

“Two,” the princess said, discarding two from her hand and picking up two new ones.

“Feeling confident, Your Highness?” Yang asked, exchanging five cards.

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and said, “Don’t call me that.”

“Would you prefer Princess?” Yang asked, leaning forward.

Though her expression remained neutral, one of her cat ears twitched. “Call me Blake. Like you used to.”

“Only if you stop calling me Ser Yang.”

“Deal.”

“Remember, you declare first.”

Blake’s eyes, which were fixated on her, darted back to her cards. “That’s right. Point of three.”

Yang was holding six of the same suit. “Not good,” she said.

“Sequence of three.”

“Not good,” Yang said. She had a sequence of five.

“Three jacks,” Blake said, the final declaration before they’d actually play the cards.

“Good,” Yang said. She didn’t have any sets.

Blake began the first trick, setting down an ace between them. Yang discarded the seven of hearts and finally declared,

“Point of six, sequence of five,” to pick up her points.

Blake led the next trick with the king of spades, winning again. They played through the remaining ten tricks in quiet concentration, until the scores stood at:

Blake: 18

Yang: 25

Five more rounds. Yang shuffled the cards again and handed them to Blake to deal. She took another elegant sip of ale, and as she dealt, Yang admired her up-close. She was paler than Yang remembered, but her cat ears didn’t seem quite so big for her. All the tiny details were still there, the curly lock of hair that brushed against her neck, the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating, the pale scar on the bridge of her nose.

“Did you hear my question?”

Blake’s voice pulled her back to the moment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t,” Yang said.

As they sorted their cards, Blake said, “I asked who knighted you.”

“The king of Vale,” Yang said, the words slipping off her tongue with practiced ease. “All your preparations helped, don’t you think?”

“Don’t I think…?”

“That I’ve become quite the chivalrous knight.”

Blake chuckled. “No wonder you all wear so much armor, you’re so fragile. Needing me to affirm your chivalry.”

Leaning her cheek on one hand, elbow on the table, Yang said, “So that’s what you really think.”

“Isn’t chivalry something you do, not something you say you are?”

“You tell me.”

Blake’s ears folded back, and Yang finally saw pink rise to her cheeks. There was the blush she’d missed. “You declare first, remember?” Once they’d declared their cards and begun playing tricks again, Blake said, “If you truly want to know, I think chivalry should stay in the fairy tales.”

“But it represents the highest ideals a knight can aspire to,” Yang said.

“Perhaps. But you were all of those things before you had a title.”

Though Blake had said it so plainly, the words made Yang’s heart beat faster. When she’d found Blake at the bottom of the ravine, bleeding out, bruised and battered, there was no question about what she needed to do. She hadn’t even thought about the code of chivalry until Pyrrha, already a knight, mentioned it to her while Juane was working on Blake’s aura.

She told Yang she’d acted chivalrous.

At the time, she’d worried her life wouldn’t appeal to Blake. But they fell into a rhythm with the same ease they danced together with, Blake learning how to take down and put up their camp, build fires, and brush and feed Bumblebee. Once after an Ursa had hurled Yang intro a tree, her body ached for days, and Blake made her a special tea, a blend of herbs that grew on Menagerie. The steaming liquid smelled sharp and fresh, and replaced the aching in her bones with warmth as she sipped it.

Yang had convinced herself she was happy being a wanderer, riding away from a town when she came to know its people too well, talking out loud to Bumblebee when she was lonely. Blake shattered that conviction in an instant. At night, after they’d eaten dinner and maybe played some games of piquet, Yang would often lay down with her head in Blake’s lap. She’d tell her anything she could remember from the numerous books she’d read: fairy tales, Menagerie histories, ancient poetry, even family legends about her Faunus ancestors.

All the while, she’d play with Yang’s hair, massaging her head or braiding tiny flowers into her hair. Blake’s voice as she told her stories was like the strings of a lute playing softly in Yang’s ears. She began craving the contact, especially lying next to her in the tent. Blake made no sound while she slept, barely moving, curled on her side. Yang always wanted to press herself against Blake’s back, wrap her arms around her waist, pull her flush against her.

In many ways, Yang believed fate had gifted her Blake. She’d never wanted to give her back. 

The round was over, and Blake had pulled ahead.

Blake: 42

Yang: 37

“Thank you,” Yang said, taking the cards to deal once more. “For saying that.”

Blake shrugged, but again, Yang could see the trace of a smile on her lips. Blake may have been the reader between the two of them, but Yang had learned to analyze each twitch and tell of her’s, since she wasn’t always allowed the luxury of putting her emotions on display.

The time, the years, faded as they played and enjoyed their drinks. Yang could even tune out the chatter of all the other people in the inn, focusing only on how Blake described the days spent in her tower.

“Days and weeks blurred into each other,” Blake said. “I wasn’t sleeping well, so sometimes I would be awake at night and asleep during the day. Eventually…time just disappeared.”

“That sounds horrible,” Yang said.

Blake shook her head. “It was selfish. Childish. One day, I’ll have to rule Menagerie, you know. Look after the Faunus.”

“But you didn’t choose to be in there,” Yang said, tightening one hand around her cards, bending them. “Your father locked you away.”

She didn’t say anything, the silence deafening even with the sound of cards flipping and Yang placing her leather mug back on the table. “I didn’t fight him,” Blake finally said.

“Well, maybe you were relieved. Ser Adam tried to kill you. You were safe. You needed time to heal.”

“I was safe with you.”

Yang swallowed. “You were. But maybe more by luck than anything else.”

Every day after she learned of Blake’s history with the White Fang, she saw them around every corner, behind every tree. If _she_ was paranoid, she couldn’t imagine how Blake felt. For all her bluster, what could she do against a fully-fledged knight like Ser Adam and his band of mercenaries? Several times, thought she knew she shouldn’t have, she’d glanced over at Blake while they were undressing and saw the scar on her hip, a red fissure still trying to close. Part of her was terrified to encounter the man who’d done that to her.

Another part of her wanted to. To run him through with her blade. And she had met him, in the joust, and just when she’d thought she could best him, it was only Blake who’d prevented her from almost losing her life to his trick lance. The next time she met Ser Adam, whether in the arena or not, she would have to tread carefully.

If Blake replied to what she had said, Yang hadn’t heard her, so she backtracked in the conversation. “At least it seems your father has come around, with the tournament. He could have just chosen someone for you to marry.”

Blake chuckled and set down an ace, winning her third trick in a row. Yang was playing terribly, having a hard time focusing on the game at all.

“He _was_ going to choose someone for me.”

“Then why did-”

Her amber eyes went as flat and cold as the polished surface of armor. Yang couldn’t read any of her tells. “The tournament was my idea. Not his.”

“Your idea?” Yang asked. The thought had never occurred to her, in all the time travelling here, plotting and planning with Lady Schnee, competing in the melee and the joust, that they were all playing _Blake’s_ game.

“It was my only chance,” Blake said, ears finally folding back, eyes softening as she looked away. “Of bringing you back to me.”

The floor of the inn felt like it was crumbling, collapsing on itself, the pieces scrambling to rearrange themselves into solid ground once more. Blake had done all of this, had risked marrying twenty other people who could win, for _her._ She believed Yang could best them all. She, nobody from nowhere, could take on scores of knights and emerge on the other side, victorious.

She’d come to Menagerie wanting to win, of course. Looking for a way to regain the girl she’d fallen in love with, even if she was a princess. All this time, as she was taking and receiving blows in the arena, Blake had been fighting for her, too.

Yang put down her last card without even looking at what it was. The end of the round had crept up on her, and she realized there weren’t any cards on her side of table.

Blake had won all twelve tricks.

Smiling, she said, “Isn’t that a forty point bonus?”

“Impressive,” was all Yang could say.

Blake won the game by some outrageous number, but Yang had already forgotten even her own score. She was too in awe of the woman seated across from her.

“It’s rather late,” Yang said, putting the cards away. “Do you need an escort back to the castle?”

“Best not,” Blake said. “I don’t want to draw too much attention.”

“Of course.”

They both stood, and Yang said, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Yang.”

Her name, just her name, sounded so simple and perfect on Blake’s tongue. The night before they’d parted, Yang was laying down next to Blake, pretending to be asleep. To stop herself from leaning over and kissing her, expressing how happy she was that Blake wanted to visit Patch with her. Secretly, a dark part of her wanted to get Blake as far from Anima and thus Menagerie as possible, to leave behind once and for all the life that had stifled her.

Even with her eyes closed, Yang was hyper-aware of her, the way she smelled like the herbal teas she always brewed for them, the evenness of her breath. Blake was her steadfast companion, someone to finally share the long road with.

Waving goodbye to her on the docks, Yang had wanted Blake’s final memory of her to be one of strength. But once she’d boarded the ship, she’d leaned against the swaying hull and let her tears fall into the sea. They were seventeen. They were foolish. They were impossible.

She wished she had kissed her.

Yang burst out the inn’s front door, found Blake slipping through one of the near back alleys. Almost missed her, from how well she blended in with the darkness.

“Blake,” Yang said, her name, just her name, rolling off her tongue like it’d been made to fit there.

Blake turned around and Yang closed the distance between them. She pulled out the purple scarf Blake had given her at the joust.

“Do you want this back?” Yang asked.

Her eyebrows were furrowed, cat ears tilted back. Questioning. “No,” she said. “Keep it. You can keep wearing it, if you want to.”

She nodded, stuffing the scarf back into her pocket. The streets of Kuo Kuana were so silent, only the occasional rustling of a palm tree.

“I’m sorry I lost to Ser Adam,” Yang said.

“It’s alright. You still have a chance, as long as he loses an event, too.”

“I’ll ensure he does,” Yang said, tightening her hand into a fist inside her pocket.

Blake looked up at her and flicked one ear before saying, “I enjoyed dancing with you again. And playing cards.”

Yang smiled. “I did too.”

Her palms were sweaty, the rush of blood in her ears drowning out even her thoughts as she said, “I think I need another good luck charm for my next fight.”

“Another one,” Blake asked, and grinned, no concealing it. “I’m afraid I didn’t bring anything with me.”

“I can think of something,” Yang said.

Blake stood on her tiptoes, hands cupping Yang’s face. Heat burst onto her cheeks and ears, but she managed to wrap her arms around Blake’s waist. Her lips were close, close enough to feel the rise and fall of her breath. She moved, then, and kissed Yang’s cheek, leaning her forehead against the side of Yang’s head.

Blake was so warm, especially on a cold autumn night. Yang felt like she couldn’t even draw in a breath this close to her, this close to her lips. She moved her head, just enough for the two of them to share a look, and Blake leaned into her. She closed her eyes as their lips met, as they undid two years’ worth of regret in an instant. Kissing her was warm and wet and sweet, shared breath, darting tongues, fumbling hands.

Pulling Blake against her, holding her there in the space between her arms, Yang slid her tongue against Blake’s lower lip, her mouth opening. They were clumsy, teeth occasionally colliding, but Yang didn’t mind. All that mattered was the heat flooding her body, her stomach dropping the same way it did when a Grimm was hurtling toward her, but this time somehow better, both safer and more out of control all at once.

When they broke apart, Yang smiled, and kissed her nose, each of her closed eyelids, and her forehead. Blake giggled, then bottled up the sound in an instant, cheeks turning red.

“Was that…was that lucky enough?” Blake asked.

“It was,” Yang said.

With immense effort, Yang let her head back to the castle. She’d wanted to win before, but now, there was no choice. She was _going_ to win, going to be the one standing at the altar on her wedding day. If her opponents didn’t know that yet, they soon would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, everyone! I hope all of you are doing well. I know I usually update on Mondays, but I finished this yesterday and didn't want some arbitrary update schedule to stop me from posting it. with any luck, there won't be another hiatus this long again, but we'll have to see where life takes me.
> 
> I can't quite put my finger on why, but this chapter just has a different vibe to it. a good vibe, i definitely enjoyed writing it, but different somehow. who knows. i feel really good about the place my outline is in as I keep moving forward, so I think these next few chapters should be a blast.
> 
> I also wanted to say thank you to the people I've interacted with both here and on tumblr - it makes me so happy knowing other people are enjoying this AU, and I love hearing from you all! as always, hang out with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dandelionsnight) or [Tumblr!](https://dandelionsknight.tumblr.com/)


	7. Thought of the Beloved Never Leaves the True Lover

Blake wasn’t even in a particular mood for reading, but she was in a particular mood for some time to herself. There was another melee scheduled for the afternoon, but at least the morning was hers, to steal away to the library. As a child and then a young adult, the library was her refuge, a place where she could cease being a princess and try on someone else’s story instead.

It helped that it was always empty too, vast and windowless like a holy place, and the servants kept the sconces lit and the dust off the shelves just for her. She’d left Ren, the captain of her personal guard, at the doorway as she entered into the labyrinthine stacks. For years now, she’d tried without success to convince her father to open it up to anyone in Menagerie who wanted to see their archives. There was no point in keeping it locked away inside the castle – there was only so much she as an individual could read.

Still, there was something comforting about knowing only she could navigate the stacks, like mapping out the lines of a loved one’s palm with her eyes closed. There was only one person in this world she could claim to be so familiar with, though maybe not able to map her out quite as well as the library. But perhaps one day, if last night was any indication.

“I remember you as better at sneaking.”

Blake’s stomach plunged at the sound of the voice. Turning around, he’s there, Ser Adam, leaning against a bookshelf with his arms crossed. He’s abandoned his helm for once, instead wearing just a black cloth tied over his eyes.

“How did you –”

Ser Adam smiled, all teeth. “As you can see, I’m unarmed. Only way your watchdog would let me in here. I’m sure he would have escorted me, if there hadn’t been an unexpected commotion down the hallway.”

Blake bit the inside of her cheek. “I don’t have anything I to say to you. I’ll be leaving now.”

When she tried to walk away, he moved in front of her. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“About what.” Her tone was flat.

“You’re making a mistake, choosing her. Ser Yang. I’d never even heard her name until I came here.” He took a step closer, trying to fill her space. “Besides, it’s not _your_ choice, anyway.”

She felt almost dizzy, but kept her feet planted, refusing to take the bait he dangled in front of her. He could be talking about the events of the joust or the feast. No reason to believe he would know about last night. “I won’t say it again.”

“I thought you were happy,” Ser Adam said. “I thought the White Fang was your family. Is that what you always do to your family? Abandon us?”

“I ran and you _stabbed_ me. And that…” Her hands trembled and she had to fight to make sure her voice didn’t do the same. “Move.”

“None of these sorry knights can take care of you like I could,” Ser Adam said, but as he went on, his voice softened. “That night, I thought you had died. I’m so sorry, Blake. I never should have left you. I loved you when I met you, and even when I thought you were dead. I love you now.”

He moved close enough that his breath hit her cheek. Her heart was pounding. His tone was identical to the way he’d speak to her in the beginning, the first days of their time together, so tender and alluring. His bones were sharper now, the dark shadow of stubble lining his jaw in a way it hadn’t before, his skin pale like cold milk.

“Adam,” she said. “I was _thirteen_.”

She should have tried harder to negotiate with him, to dampen the rage rather than ignite it when he had caught her off guard like this. When his odds were, technically, better than Yang’s. But it was the words she’d been waiting to say to him for years. That she was thirteen, and suffocated and lonely and a thousand other things that made her willingly sink into his eager claws.

“What does that have to do with it?” he asked, but the danger was already there, the tension in the air just before a fight.

Her only reply was to try and shoulder past him; in a flash, he grabbed for her wrist, and Blake acted in the only way she could think of, a copy of herself forming in the second the movement caught her eye. It’d been years since she used her semblance, but it still felt so natural, separating a part of herself for Adam to grab onto while she bolted. The one time her knowledge of the library’s twisting stacks would serve her.

“ _Blake!_ ”

He bellowed in the silent sanctity of the library, but she was darting through the stacks at that point, leaving behind shadow copies to throw him off. The way he said her name betrayed his true feelings: pure rage. She would not escape another confrontation with him so easily next time. When she burst out of the library’s entrance, attempting to pull herself into a more presentable state, there was utter chaos in the hallway.

Half a dozen palace guards charged past her, still strapping on their armor, and more shouting echoed through the castle. Ren approached her, breathless, the normally stoic guard now appearing out of sorts.

“Your Highness,” Ren said, “We need to get down to the cellars, right away.”

“What’s happened?” Blake asked, looking over her shoulder, fearful Ser Adam would find his way out of the library at any moment.

She heard it then, a sound almost as terrible as Ser Adam’s voice. A booming roar that shook the castle walls, and she had to steady herself against the wall as the stone floor quaked. She’d never felt anything like it.

“The dragon,” Ren said. “The Grimm dragon. It’s here, attacking outside the city walls. We need to get you somewhere safe, _now_.”

~

Yang was used to charging headfirst into danger. In many ways, it was the only way to prove herself, riding directly at an oncoming lance, or toward the sound of a Grimm attack rather than away from it. But even _she_ had to admit a feeling of apprehension as Bumblebee galloped through one of the city gates, toward the enormous shadow in the sky circling the farms outside Kuo Kuana.

The beast’s roar was unlike anything she’d heard before, ear-splitting even at a distance, a sound that made the earth shiver. She wasn’t the only knight riding toward the danger – guards from the castle were also streaming out of the gates, others along the city wall loading giant crossbows, if the Grimm dragon came within firing distance. Yang couldn’t help but wonder why some of those weren’t built farther out.

She rode past a field of corn the wyvern had already scorched, the crops blackened and smoldering. Other Grimm crawled from out of the wild, drawn to the sounds of screaming and destruction. She unsheathed her sword as Bumblebee streaked past a Boarbatusk, cleaving through its head and destroying it.

Grimm swarmed the farm that the wyvern was circling; though the people who lived there seemed to have retreated inside, the fear in the air was as thick as the black smoke and swirling embers from the flames consuming the granaries and fields. Yang rode through a broken fence toward two Death Stalkers scuttling toward the farmhouse.

One lashed at her with its tail; its golden stinger clanged against her shield while she swiped her sword and sliced it off. When the Death Stalker reared up with a screech of pain, Yang plunged her sword into its soft belly, twisting until it exploded into smoke.

“Yang!”

She turned at the cry of her name, just in time to see the other Death Stalker lunging for her with its pincers. Bumblebee whinnied, skidding to try and avoid it, but before Yang could raise her shield, a spear cracked through the Grimm’s hard plating on its back and destroyed it, too. Slowing Bumblebee, Yang saw her then, riding up to collect her spear.

Ser Pyrrha Nikos. Bronze armor flashing in the sun, hair stark red against the black smoke, yanking her spear out of the ground with ease. She smiled at Yang and said,

“That was close. What an exciting reunion.”

Yang can only manage a nod and a, “Thank you.”

“You probably would have been fine,” Pyrrha said.

The shouting of the city guards drew their attention back to the skies. The Grimm dragon was in a nosedive, wings tucked against its body, and an explosion of fire erupted from its mouth as it passed over the ground, torching another field of grain. It landed among the ashes, and Yang and Ser Pyrrha rode toward it, to the apprehension of their horses. Most of the other guards and knights had been focused on the other Grimm emerging from the jungle, but now they all converged on the wyvern, firing dozens of arrows that snapped against its thick hide.

Now just a league or two away, the wyvern’s _enormity_ hit Yang; it could have made a nest sitting atop the castle, or comfortably wrapped its jaws around Blake’s tower. The red membrane on its wings almost seemed to glow and pulse, and its claws and horns gleamed like polished ivory. It might have been beautiful – if it wasn’t so horrible

The wyvern swept its tail through a cluster of city guards, knocking them down like toys, and roared again, the promise of flames glowing red inside its mouth. The sound of it made her ears ache and her head pound. She tugged on Bumblebee’s reins, urging him to stop, even as Ser Pyrrha charged ahead. Yang’s skin was coated in sweat. Her mouth tasted bitter. Her heart pounded as she watched the Grimm dragon swing its head toward Ser Pyrrha, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

Ser Pyrrha rose her spear and hurled it. She veered off to the side as the spear sailed through the air and struck the Grimm dragon’s glowing eye. A perfect, near impossible shot, one that Ser Pyrrha had taken without fear. It roared and flapped its wings at the moment of impact, the strong gale almost unseating Yang from her saddle, and took to the skies once more.

This time, it didn’t circle, but rather flew away over the trees, toward the mountains. Yang tried to return her breathing back to normal as Bumblebee settled too, away from the presence of such a monster. A sound tugged at the edge of her hearing, like a cry for help, and she rode toward it, needing to make herself useful.

Yang, Ser Pyrrha, and a group of other knights found a man pinned beneath his wagon, the reins broken from where the horses must have bolted. Together, they lifted the wagon enough to pull the man free, unharmed but shaken.

“You just might have saved us all,” Yang said, looking to Ser Pyrrha.

“I did what any knight would have,” she said. “You flatter me, Yang. I’m sorry we haven’t had time to talk before now.”

 _Not any knight_ , Yang thought, but kept it to herself. “I was surprised to see you. I thought you had given up on tournaments.”

Ser Pyrrha was older than her by just a couple years, but had risen in fame and rank quickly due to her skill. They had met in Vale, when Yang’s father asked his powerful friend Lord Ozpin to find a knight for Yang to serve as a squire under, and Lord Ozpin introduced her to the newly knighted Ser Pyrrha. For over a year, Yang scraped the muck from her horses’ hooves, hefted her equipment on the road, and helped don her armor while dreaming of the day she’d wear a set of her own.

The tournament lifestyle hadn’t suited Ser Pyrrha; the last few years, she’d travelled with her friend Jaune, the healer, taking work that helped defend people rather than earn piles of lien. The last time they’d seen each other was when they met outside of Mistral, and Yang had brought Blake to see Jaune. In truth, Yang had _purposefully_ avoided Ser Pyrrha these last couple weeks in Menagerie.

She didn’t understand why Ser Pyrrha wanted to compete now, or if she even remembered Blake. A part of Yang felt that Ser Pyrrha, no matter how kind, could never see her a knight, always the squire with scrapes on her knees, stumbling alongside her horse and badgering her for sword practice. But maybe, in that sense, Ser Pyrrha was the only who truly saw her.

“I have, mostly,” Pyrrha said. “But this one was important. You’ve seen all the different…types of people who have come to compete for the princess’s hand.” She smiled again, a smile so warm and sincere, Yang couldn’t bring herself to press for more.

“Well it’s lucky you came,” Yang said, whistling for Bumblebee to come back to her side.

“Let’s see how else we can help,” Ser Pyrrha said.

~

Kuo Kuana wasn’t calm again until the night, when the gentle light of the shattered moon finally brought a sense of peace and quiet. The afternoon’s melee had been cancelled on account of the attack; Blake had heard only snatches of what her father’s messengers told him, but she understood at the very least that the Grimm dragon had set fire to some of the winter’s food supply, and killed at least a handful of city guards. Blake didn’t understand why the wyvern hadn’t come to the city, surely where the feelings of fear and panic were strongest – was it smart enough to know about the mounted crossbows on the city walls? Most of all, she wondered if Ser Yang was among the knights who’d ridden out to confront the monster.

She shook off the thought as she emerged onto the beach. Perhaps the night of a Grimm attack wasn’t the most ideal time to sneak out again, but her encounter with Ser Adam in the library had poisoned the sanctity of the castle. Sitting in her chambers, even knowing Ren was outside the door, she saw his specter in every shadow.

No one ever came to this stretch of beach, anyway; it was far from where merchant ships and fishing boats alike landed, and though the wind scraping off the ocean was cold, she had brought a coat, an old one of her father’s, spun from dark purple wool. It had engulfed her as a child, but always made her feel safe – now if she rolled up the sleeves, she could at least free her hands. It still made her feel safe, even when she and her father were more distant than ever.

It was only low tide, the waves rasping against the sand, like the ocean breathing deep and settling in to sleep in the hours before high tide. The night was cloudless, the moon almost full, casting silver over the crests of the waves. The air smelled like salt, another thing that made her feel calm.

“Blake?”

For one moment, her chest tightened, but she recognized the voice immediately, looking over her shoulder to see Yang approaching from along the beach. She was in plain clothes again, but with her sword at her side. Her hair was loose, wild in the breeze, and though she looked tired, she was unharmed.

Blake knew what she should have done; she should have stayed planted and perhaps scolded Yang for startling her. Instead, she rushed forward, and threw her arms around Yang, burying her face in her chest. Yang didn’t even stumble, instead circling her arms around Blake, and saying,

“I thought I might find you here.”

“I can’t believe you would even remember,” Blake said, half-muffled against Yang’s shirt.

Blake had told her about this hidden stretch of beach during the time they’d spent together, just as she’d told her almost about everything about herself, but the fact that Yang would remember it existed, let alone how to find it, only made her affection grow.

“You said it was far from the docks, but still had a view of them, and you could always find it by looking for the grove of eucalyptus trees near the stables,” Yang said, still holding her, setting her chin on top of Blake’s head. “I listened to you. I was always listening.”

Blake squeezed her. “You were out there today, weren’t you?”

“Were you worried about me?” Yang asked.

“Be serious.”

Blake looked up, to examine Yang’s face. There was a black smudge on her cheek, and Blake tried to rub it away with her thumb. 

“I knew there was a reason Weiss was laughing at me at dinner,” Yang said, shaking her head, but Blake caught her chin to keep her still.

“Weiss?” Blake asks, as she finished rubbing it off. “So you two are familiar now.”

“There’s nothing for you to worry about – ”

“No, I’m glad,” Blake said, and she meant it. Weiss had always been kind to her when she visited Menagerie, far kinder than her cruel father. “You need allies. What is this, anyway?”

“Ash,” Yang said. “That Grimm dragon burned a lot of farmland.”

They stepped apart as Blake said, “I knew you would be out there.”

“I was. I did what I could…mostly,” Yang said, looking out across the sea. “I had thought the rumors were just rumors.”

“So did I. To some extent,” Blake said, trying to read Yang’s face, but her expression was hard, save for the creases in her forehead.

“It’s terrible to see. That Grimm is out there, and we’re all in here, focused on this tournament.” Yang shook her head, but added, “I know the tournament is important, believe me, I do –”

Blake took Yang’s hand and squeezed it. “I understand what you mean. But perhaps Kuo Kuana is as safe as it can be, with all you knights here.”

Yang looked at her and smiled weakly. “Perhaps.”

Still holding her hand, Blake sat down on the sand, pulling Yang down with her. Whatever was really on Yang’s mind, Blake would have to trust that she’d tell her when she was ready.

“Something else happened today,” Blake said, drawing her knees up to her chest and setting her chin on top of them. “Ser Adam came to see me.”

“He didn’t try to hurt you, did he?” Yang asked, distant expression shaken, putting a hand on Blake’s shoulder.

“I’m not certain. He could have, he grabbed for me, but I ran,” Blake said.

“Where were your guards?”

“The dragon attacked at the same time. Ser Adam must have slipped inside the castle in all the confusion.”

“Are you alright?”

Blake stretched her legs back out to turn and look at Yang. “I’m fine. I just don’t want to run into him like that again.”

Yang put an arm around her shoulder, drawing Blake against her side, and she leaned into the knight’s warmth. Even without her armor, her body was still solid, hardened for battle. Yang said, “I won’t let him hurt you. You’re mine to protect now.”

She had never said anything like that to her before, but Blake almost wanted to believe it. That one person who loved her was capable of protecting her from all the harm the world could throw at her. But she knew it wasn’t possible, and there would be times when she’d have to step up to protect herself, like this morning in the library. There was no harm in letting Yang believe it, though.

Blake kissed her cheek, and tucked herself into the warm crook of her neck. “In the summertime, it’s actually pleasant to come swim out here.”

“In the ocean?”

“It’s been years since I’ve done it, but I remember it,” Blake said. “When the weather is warmer, I’ll bring you back here, and we can go swimming.”

Yang tightened her arm around her. “I can’t wait.”

She knew they shouldn’t do this anymore – that there was a good chance Ser Adam or someone from the White Fang had seen them outside the inn last night, and continuing to meet in secret would only increase their chances of being discovered. A little court gossip was fine; in fact, the court practically thrived on it. But eyewitnesses to confirm that Blake was seeing someone before the champion was decided wouldn’t end well.

Tomorrow, she would tell Yang they had to end their secret meetings. For now they could enjoy this last one together, and listen to the waves whispering on the sand, and if Blake closed her eyes, she could imagine for just a moment that the tournament, the Grimm dragon, and Ser Adam had never existed at all. Only the two of them, the way it was before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! I know it truly has been a hot minute since the last update, but this story never left my head during all that time. I want to say thank you to every person I've interacted with about this story - talking to people in the comments and on tumblr and discord has made me so happy, more than you all could ever know. thank you, thank you for reading this new chapter, and I hope to be back soon with another one!
> 
> as always, hang out with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dandelionsnight) or [Tumblr!](https://dandelionsknight.tumblr.com/)


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